Repercussions and Futures
by kaelleigh
Summary: What happens next... This is a sequel to Injured Sentiments because I couldn't leave the story where I did. WarGriss SLASH, but nothing graphic.


Title: Repercussions and Futures

Author: jhourdhaun, a.k.a. kaelleigh

Email: PG-13

Pairing: G/W

Sequel: Yes, to understand you need to read "Injured Sentiments"

Spoilers: Small one for _Lady Heather's Box_

Category: Established relationship, angst

Date completed: September 8, 2003

Summary: What happens next…

PRIVATE feedback - kudos, comments or constructive criticism - is always welcome.

Notes: I needed closure, Trev and Mel were bugging me that the story wasn't finished, and Warrick needed Gil (or Gil needed Warrick). Special thanks to Evanescence's Fallen CD. Damn it can be depressing, but "Bring Me to Life" and "My Immortal" just screamed War and Griss to me.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of them. Bruckheimer, Alliance Atlantis, and CBS are the lucky ones.

Repercussions and Futures

By jhourdhaun

Gil Grissom was tired. Even though his days had been divided equally between work and sleep, he still felt exhausted. He had been picking up a great deal of the slack caused by Warrick's absence – they all had – but he knew the extra work wasn't the reason he was feeling so drained.

Plain and simple, he missed Rick.

He hadn't believed that it would be this hard – that the separation would be almost painful. He never would have thought that his decision to end their relationship wouldn't bring the peace that he had expected.

Grissom found that his mind wandered at the most inopportune times to questions of Warrick. Was he out of hospital? Had he started therapy? Where was he staying? Who was taking care of him? When was he coming back? Did Rick feel like there was a part of him missing as much as Grissom did?

Why hadn't he heard anything about him?

The last question was easily answered – the lab personnel were all taking part in a conspiracy of silence. If it had to do with Warrick, no one was talking – at least not around him, anyway. He knew exactly when they were discussing the absent CSI because as soon as he would walk within hearing distance, all talk would stop or the subject would abruptly, and not very subtly, change.

His team on the night shift was the worst. He had tried asking them how their team member was doing, but none of them would answer directly. Since they all knew of his relationship with Warrick, he couldn't tell if they were punishing him for causing the break-up or trying to spare him the pain that people in their situation had to go through when they shared a group of friends.

Considering some of the glares that Catherine had been sending his way, he was opting for the former.

The death glares had finally brought him to this point. He knew Catherine and the intensity of her glares had more behind them than just his ending things with Warrick. There was something else there that he couldn't put his finger on. So, even with exhaustion clinging to him like the autopsy bay smell, Grissom decided to make a phone call.

He knew from past experience that calling the hospital would net him zero information because he'd tried several times. Instead, he was going to a better source – a source that he trusted implicitly.

He just hoped that his source wouldn't hang up in his face as soon as he identified himself.

"Hello?" An older, female voice answered on the other end of the phone.

Trying to clear his throat of the lump that had formed, Grissom finally responded, "Margaret, it's Gil."

"Oh Gil, it's good to hear from you." Grissom was surprised to hear the warmth and sincerity in the woman's voice. "How are you, sweetheart?"

Maybe she didn't know. "I'm fine, Margaret. How are you?"

"Doing well, Gil. Doing well. And what have I told you about calling me Margaret? If I've told you once I've told you a thousand times, it's Grams."

Grissom couldn't stop the bittersweet smile from crossing his face. Nope, she didn't know or else that invitation wouldn't have been offered. "I'm sorry. Old habits are hard to break and with things being the way they are now…"

"My offering you that moniker for me has never hinged on your relationship with my grandson and it never will. You have your reasons for doing what you did and I have mine for offering."

Grissom was stunned. She knew … and it didn't matter. Maybe this conversation wasn't going to be as bad as he feared. "Thank you, Grams. I don't think you know how much I needed to hear that." He paused for a moment just to savour the affection the older lady was granting him. "Um, I'm sorry to bother you this late, but I was wondering if Warrick was up to coming to the phone? I hadn't heard anything from him and I wanted to know how he was doing."

There was silence on the other end of the line and then, "Gil… Ricky's not here."

"He's not? I thought for sure he'd be at your place recuperating."

"Normally, he would, but things haven't worked out that way."

Grissom didn't like the way this was sounding. Where was Warrick and why wasn't he staying with his beloved grandmother? Where else would he go? "May I ask where he is?"

A deep sigh filtered through the line and he knew he wasn't going to like the answer. "Sweetheart, I love you just as much as if you were my own. And for that reason, I'm not liking the position that Ricky is putting me in. Unfortunately, my grandson made me promise not to talk to you about him and I've come too close lately to almost losing him to break that. If and when he's ready, you'll know everything." Pausing for just a second, a slight quiver in her voice came through. "I'm sorry I can't tell you anything more, Gil. You have a goodnight and I'll speak to you some other time." And with that, she hung up.

Grissom sat there for a moment just staring at the phone. He couldn't believe that Warrick was behind the lack of information and that he'd even dragged his grandmother into it. His lover wasn't petty like this – it just wasn't in his nature. Now he knew something else was going on. Something that for whatever reason, Warrick didn't want him to know.

Well, too bad. He wasn't the supervisor of one of the best CSI teams in the country for nothing. He was going to get to the bottom of this no matter what and he knew just the person that was going to tell him.

"What's going on with Warrick?" Grissom demanded from the red head that sat in front of his desk. "His grandmother told me that he was behind this wall of silence I keep running against and I want to know why."

Catherine Willows was a shrewd woman and if she'd learned anything in her experiences in life as well as a CSI, she knew when not to push a man who was pretty close to the edge. "So, what? Are you interrogating me, now? Do you honestly think that if you bellow enough I'll break down and tell you everything?" Obviously, this wasn't one of those times. "I don't even understand why you're so concerned. You ended it. You told him it was over. Can you fault him for giving you a clean break?"

Sometimes, he really hated when she was right … and in that tone of voice. "I'm just concerned about a friend."

"Uh huh. Is that all?"

"Of course that's all. I made my feelings clear when I saw him." Grissom took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "But just because we're no longer intimate, it doesn't mean I can't still care."

Catherine eyed her long-time friend. He could see exactly when she decided to let him in on what was going on. "You're right. As a concerned friend, you have a right to know." She sat up straight in her chair and pinned him with an unblinking stare. "Warrick is still in the hospital. He had a pretty nasty relapse that he's just now getting past."

All of the air pushed its way out of Grissom's body at the words. He'd been expecting anything but that. "When?"

"Gil, that's not important…"

"Stop trying to shield me, Catherine. When did he have the relapse?"

"A couple of hours after you left." Her eyes narrowed as she took in Grissom's reactions. She seemed to weigh those reactions as a calculating gleam entered her eyes. "They put him back in ICU for a few days and he was just moved to a private room yesterday."

"And nobody bothered to tell me! What if he had died?"

"During some of his more lucid moments, he begged us not to say anything. You know how Warrick can be. He said it was stuff like him getting hurt that had torn you guys apart and he didn't want you beating yourself up over this."

Grissom's hands were shaking and he couldn't believe what he was hearing. "And you went along with this?"

"Yeah, I did. Partly because I wanted him to stay calm so that he could get better and partly because I wanted to stick it to you for what you did to him."

"Gee, thanks. Nice to know we're such good friends."

"We are friends, that's why I can give you a good kick in the ass for being so stupid." Catherine stood and pointed her finger at Grissom. "You are the only person who can't see how much you love Warrick. You're the only one who can't see how lost you are without him."

"I never said I didn't love him," Grissom whispered. "I told him I couldn't live with these feelings pushing me out of control."

"When have you ever been out of control?"

"Right after I heard the call for officers down at the site. I dropped everything to get there – to make sure he was okay. Then, when I saw that he wasn't, I forgot about everything else and totally focused on him."

"And there's something wrong with that? For God's sake, Gil, the man you loved had been gunned down and was pretty close to dying. How else were you supposed to act?"

"Like someone who was supposed to be doing his job. My first concern should have been gathering evidence to nail the bastard who'd done the shooting."

"He was dead from thirty-seven bullets fired from the combined weapons of the LVPD and the Sheriff's Department after twenty-two cops, eighteen civilians, and two dogs watched him shoot everything in sight for forty-five minutes."

"I handed off the report to you without finalising the findings…"

"And which you couldn't have done in the first place because you were too closely involved with one of the victims. Conflict of interest."

Grissom was clenching his teeth as he spat out, "There shouldn't have been a conflict of interest, Catherine."

"There's always a chance that there will be, Gil. Your denying that is almost like saying I had a way of keeping Lindsey away from the murder of her father." Catherine walked around the desk and put her hand on her friend's shoulder. "Look, I know you're scared and this thing with Warrick is not something you're used to, but the only thing you're going to get from pushing him away is another forty-seven years of being alone.

"You need to ask yourself is having total control over everything and not letting yourself feel worth losing the best thing you've had in your life."

Gil was struck by a sense of déjà vu as he stood in the doorway of Warrick's room. Everything was familiar. Not so much the room because Rick had been moved back to ICU for a while after his relapse and then afterwards to a different room, but the feelings. His soul was aching every bit, if not more, as the last time. Even though this time he was offering a more positive message, it might still be too little too late.

He wasn't there when Warrick really needed him – may, in fact have contributed to his relapse. So, now the ball was entirely in Warrick's court. Whatever the younger man decided, Gil would accept – regretfully if his choice was to send Grissom away, but deservedly. Not that he was worried that Rick would be vindictive, but … he'd never put his happiness, for want of a better word, in someone else's hands. That terrified him like nothing he'd ever faced before.

Trying not to focus too much on the possible negative outcome of this visit, Gil moved further into the room, letting the door close quietly behind him. The scientist in him noted all of the changes – the nasal cannula, the added machines including a heart monitor, the unnatural stillness and frailty that hung on the man in the bed like a shroud. He was shocked to see what the relapse had done. When he'd last seen Rick, he at least looked like he was on the road to recovery. Now, he looked more like he did right after the shooting when the doctors hadn't been sure he'd see the next morning.

The old fear of loss tried again to rear its ugly head.

Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all. Maybe he should wait till Warrick was better. Maybe Catherine was wrong – this wouldn't do either of them any good. Maybe…

"Grams always told me it was impolite to stare," a scratchy, dry voice floated up from the bed. When Gil's eyes focused on the now barely open green eyes of the younger man, Warrick gave him one of his half-smirks. "Hey boss. Come to make sure I'm honestly using my sick leave."

Ah. So it was going to be like that. Gil recognised the setting of boundaries and admired how quickly, even with his senses dulled from being ill, Warrick had done so. "Actually, I heard a little rumour floating around the labs that you had enjoyed yourself so much here, that you had extended your stay. Knowing you the way I do, I had to come see for myself."

Warrick snorted. "Who wouldn't want to stay and enjoy these lovely accommodations? This is prime property – all-inclusive even."

Gil could hear the underlying pain and breathless pants trying to hide underneath the sarcasm. Sobering quickly, he set his campaign in motion. "You don't look so good, Ricky."

"Good, cause I don't feel so good, Grissom."

"Okay, so we're back to the formalities."

"According to you, that's all we have left." Warrick coughed and tried to brace himself against the pain. His breathing seemed to be more laboured. "What are you doing back here? Didn't you say everything you needed to a week ago?"

Gil pulled up a chair and made himself comfortable – or as comfortable as he could be in this situation. "Why'd you make everyone keep quiet about your setback? When I finally did hear about it, I felt like I was pulling teeth just to get details."

He shrugged and another grimace accompanied it. "You didn't need to know. Catherine kept personnel apprised of everything that had been going down. As my supervisor, you only needed to know I was off the rotation."

"I'm more to you than just a supervisor."

"Not any more. You made the call. I was simply making it easier for you."

'And that pretty much summed up the relationship,' Grissom thought. He could remember how Warrick was always trying to make things easy for him. Before he moved in with Gil, they met around the older man's schedule. When they decided to co-habit, Warrick moved in with Gil because too much movement would disturb his "pets." After he moved in, he bought groceries, hit up his grandmother for recipes that he knew Gil would like, found a great dry cleaner that didn't balk at some of the stains their clothes often had, and saved Gil a nice amount of money since he didn't have to replace so many outfits because of the great dry cleaners.

He also supplied all of the emotions. They weren't Gil's forte, so he was happy to leave those in Warrick's hands as well. Rick was the feeler and Gil was the thinker. It worked for them.

Or at least it had until Gil had blown it – intentionally, but hopefully not completely.

Gil leaned in closer so that he could take in everything those expressive eyes had to say. He knew they'd tell him more than Warrick's voice. "I've come to realise that making things easier for me shouldn't be our only priority."

Warrick's eyes narrowed as if he was trying to protect his innermost thoughts, but Grissom had already seen enough. "What do you want from me, Griss?"

Gil smiled a little at the nickname – it wasn't exactly the one he was hoping to hear again, but it was close enough. "I want to give back to you everything that you've given to me."

The green eyes flared, "Why? You feeling guilty? You think your ending our relationship caused my little 'setback'? Well, no worries. We can safely blame my extended accommodations on the little secondary infection I picked up."

"This isn't guilt, Ricky."

"Then your damn pity certainly isn't welcome. I'm not down for the count; I'll bounce back from this."

"Are those the only two things you'll allow me – guilt or pity?" Grissom knew that how he handled the next few minutes would determine everything good in his future. "Can't there be something more?"

Warrick took as deep a breath as his weakened body would allow and his eyelids dropped as if he were trying to brace himself against a coming storm. "Not according to you. You set these new boundaries. You said it was over." The lids lifted and Gil almost pulled back from the intense pain he saw in them – almost. "I just followed your lead, Grissom. I did what you wanted because I could see it was what you needed."

"And what if I was wrong? What if what I thought I needed was so completely off base? What if I messed up so badly that I almost pushed the one thing I needed the most away?"

"God, Gil, don't do this to me. I can't go from one end to the other – I'm not up to it."

Grissom heard the plea. If it had been uttered at any other time, he would have adhered to it. But, it had been said after the only endearment that meant something to Warrick – the shortening of his first name. Rick could toss out "babe" with the best of his generation, but Grissom knew that his using "Gil" meant … everything. He reached out a tentative hand and grasped the pale, shaking one on the bed. "You don't have to be. Just chalk before up to a pain-induced nightmare or as Archie would put it, a hiccough in the space-time continuum and forget it. This is the only "end" we need to be at." His hold on his lover's hand strengthened. "Rest now. I'll be here when you wake."

For several long minutes, their eyes held – one set making promises and the other taking them in like they were life-blood. Finally, Warrick's eyes drifted closed and Gil leaned back in his chair, maintaining the hold he had on his lover. He was satisfied that everything he wanted to convey had been covered in those moments.

But then again, maybe not.

A drowsy, yet contented, voice drifted up from the bed, "You never did tell me what exactly you wanted from me, Gil."

Thinking briefly, Gil knew the only answer he could give, "How about the next forty-seven years."

Finito


End file.
